Prowl's Girlfriend
by Crystal Shekeira
Summary: G1. In order to stem the flow of fanmail he was receiving, Prowl decides to enlist the help of Solarflare. Sometimes it's nice to be the only girl in an allmale enclave, sometimes it just plain sucks.
1. The Predicament

**Prowl's Girlfriend**

It was Thursday.

It was Thursday and five after five in the evening.

Solarflare struggled to repress a sigh of annoyance as she watched Red Alert continuously tap his foot and stare at his chronometer. When would the security director understand that humanity did not run in a perpetual straight line? Things happened, people got stuck in traffic; Primus forbid there had been an accident! But no, Red Alert wanted the delivery on time so he could get on with the rest of his day. Law and order, that was Red – it was Prowl, too, but not even the second-in-command could compare with Marvin the Paranoid Android, who had a borderline OCD personality.

"Every minute they are late is another minute the Decepticons have to sabotage the delivery," Red Alert had shrilled on more than one occasion. Flare had long ago stopped trying to reason with the sot; instead, she kept her vocalizer silent and optics on the road, imagining the USPS van running Red Alert over. She tried to keep her creativity to a minimum due to the trouble she'd gotten into last time – it really didn't help to improve their relations if she kept picturing Red as a giant gopher popping out of holes in the ground while she chased after him with a large rubber mallet. It was her unconscious miming that clued the security director into her thoughts and left him pink with rage, threatening to have her central processor swiped. So she promised herself to behave. But it was really hard not to – especially with a person like Red.

Solarflare wriggled in place, hands pinned under her thighs; that damned van couldn't come any sooner.

"Solarflare!" Red Alert called out impetuously. "Any sign?"

_No, you stupid twat –_ she found herself thinking, mouth open to reply, politely, in the negative, when her sensors lit up. "United States Postal Service van approaching," she called down from her perch on the Ark's great orange boosters. Oh, she was so very relieved! But the fun didn't stop there. Resigned, she spread her wings and hopped off the booster, gliding down to the rocky bottom. With a _snick_, her wings slid back into place above her shoulders and she walked up to stand beside Red Alert.

The avian femme would have gladly looked forward to mail day if she'd been assigned duty with someone else. But no, it had to be Red Alert, the mech himself had declared. No one else was trained so heavily for security; no one else would have half a cortex for what to look for. But why her? folk were wont to inquire. Wasn't she Communications Officer? Oh yes, she was Comm Officer all right, which was exactly why Red Alert chose her. "The mail is included in communications, is it not, Solarflare?" Red Alert had argued with her; unable to wheedle her way out, she conceded that it was indeed part of the umbrella that was communications. "So it is then part of your duty as an Autobot officer to accompany the Security Director."

"Officer" was stretching it a bit; she didn't have authority or rank to give orders. It was a mere honorific. If _Bluestreak_ gave her a command, she'd have to follow it. Oh, but it wasn't bad to be part of the theoretical base on the totem pole that was Autobot hierarchy.

"SOLARFLARE!"

She jumped, caught in one of her rare daydream moments. A hiss escaped her rose-colored lip components in reaction to Red's rapt call. Pulling herself together, she managed a curt nod in his direction, turning to watch the van creep up the path.

"Must I speak with Prime about your increasing cortex wanderings, Solarflare?"

Goddammit! This was one of the characteristics about Red Alert that made him the butt of many jokes, the personality quirk that had led to many brawls. But Solarflare was not Sunstreaker and Sideswipe; she was not Brawn or Grimlock. She was female and she had finesse.

Promises be damned. She flipped Red Alert off.

Ignoring his protests, she walked up to the van and smiled at the driver. "Big load today," she commented as he got out and went to the back.

"This is the largest amount of mail I've ever brought up here," he told her. "Most of it's for …" he reached into one of the bags and pulled out a letter. "… 'The Autobot Prowl'."

Solarflare took the thin envelope and lifted it to her nose, confirming what she'd suspected – perfume.

"All this – for _Prowl_?" Somehow, she wasn't surprised.

"Primus on a pogo-stick, Solarflare! Get back!"

Snarling, she bowed in deference to Red Alert's obvious superiority and let him conduct his in-depth search of the van and its contents. One couldn't be too careful; Megatron was known for trying anything and everything.

"That's two, Solarflare," Red Alert called over his shoulder as he swept his detector rod over the contents. "_First_ – insubordination against a superior; _second_ – disobeying a direct order from said superior. I'm reporting this to Prowl. It's high time you were taken to task for your flippant attitude. Just because you're the 'Ark darling' doesn't give you a free pass to do whatever you want! Must I remind you – _again_ – that this is a military institution – and we are AT WAR?"

"At least she didna make you sit on it an' rotate, Red," Ironhide remarked casually, appearing from the main bay. He walked over and peered over Red Alert's shoulder, grinning at the postman.

Red stood up, folding his arms. "Must you continue to condone her actions?" he shrilled, flicking the rod at Solarflare. "Not once during the entire time she has been among us have you acted upon my – repeated – requests that she be taken to task!"

Ironhide shrugged. "I think that being stuck with you every week is punishment enough." He winked at Flare, which only caused Red to spasm. "Oh, fine." The old warrior drew himself up in his best imitation of Superior Officer and Best Friend to Optimus Prime and declared,

"Solarflare, that was not nice. Apologize."

"Sorry," she demurred, bowing her head, crest flat.

"See? Now, let's get this unloaded. I'm sure Prowl is dying to see his fanmail."

Browplate twitching, Red Alert swept over the rest of the van's contents and left in a huff. Helping the grey-white-black femme load the mailbags onto the waiting grav sled, Ironhide leaned over and remarked casually, "I'd best watch it, missy. One day Red _will_ have his say."

Solarflare heaved a particularly bulky bag and let it drop carefully into the sled. She sighed, unconsciously blowing air from her ventilators up at her threefold crest. "I'm sorry, Ironhide – but he can be so … _irritating_!"

"I know, darlin', but you stick it up like the rest of us. Just remember, the next time you decide to flick ol' Red another one, make sure he can't see it." With that, the old warrior patted her well-worn shoulder strut and transformed, his boxy shape winding down the lane.

Sighing again, Flare powered the sled up and began dragging it back into the Ark. Once inside, she found an unoccupied corner and set up operations; curled her legs comfortably and began sorting the various packages, parcels and letters. Yes, she was right – Prowl had far too many letters. And they were beginning to stink and she along with them. She was going to be the life of the rec room tonight if she wasn't able to get rid of it. Picking up another pastel colored envelope she idly wondered if Prowl read any of these. He had to; he was too honor-bound not to. Holding the cupcake construction between her fingertips, she dropped it into its respective bag

An hour and a half later found Solarflare hauling her glorified intern cart up and down the various levels of the Ark, making deliveries. Thankfully, most of the Autobots were out on patrol, thus saving her from a barrage of rose bush comments – for now. She saved Prowl's office for last.

"Primus! What is that smell!"

"Your mail," she replied, gesturing to the grav sled. The odors wafting ceiling-ward were nearly visible, concentrated as they were. "And … me," she added with a shrug.

Prowl's upper lip twitched as he struggled to retain his poise in the face of such a brutal assault on his olfactory system. "Bring it in." He stepped back to allow her entrance; Solarflare glanced at him sideways as she resolutely pulled the sled into the room and parked it in the corner. Lowering it, she began to transfer bags to the floor. Prowl watched her from a distance, trying very hard not to intake too much air. Flare had long ago become desensitized to everything, but she pitied him – and herself. She must really smell.

_Primus, this is going to take a long time to get out …_ she thought wryly, hoisting the last of the bags off the sled.

One bag, two bags … five bags. And these weren't small, either. Almost human-height, they bulged almost to the point of exploding.

"Is … this it?"

Solarflare straightened, pulling a face as a few servos in her back popped. Groaning, she dug her fingertips into her plating, adding energy bath to her list of off-duty activities. Casting a discerning golden optic over the bags, she nodded. "Yep. Every single one. And with that, I think I'll take my leave. I _really_ stink … Happy reading –"

"Solarflare – wait."

Flare paused, her leg literally poised over the threshold. She caught the doorframe with her taloned hand and swiveled her head around. "Yes?"

Prowl moved back and took a seat behind his desk. "Please, sit. And close the door."

Confused, she did as she was bid, wading through the bulky bags to perch on the chair opposite the second-in-command. Prowl folded his hands and straightened his shoulders, an action that preceded a speech. Suddenly, Solarflare remembered; he was going to speak with her about her incident with Red Alert! Her crest sank, causing the black-and-white to arch an eye-ridge.

"Red Alert spoke with me today."

Flare's mouth twitched and she rested her right arm on the back of the chair. "I'm sure he did."

"He has lodged a complaint with me concerning your blatant disregard for authority."

"_His_ authority, I'm sure he meant."

Prowl's face remained ever-impassive. "Yes, it was his authority. He also told me of his concern that you are taking your position as lone female too far, that your status as 'Ark darling' has given you an ego."

Slowly, Solarflare's crest inched back up; the twin feathers on either side of her aural tracts trembled. Prowl continued, "He tells me that you have the propensity to make rude human finger gestures at him and call him 'Marvin the Paranoid Android'."

Solarflare rumbled. Leave it to Red to blow things out of proportion. "I called him that once, and I only flipped him off today. He was being unreasonable."

"As I figured. But the matter of your status as Ark favorite still remains."

A frown creased her lip components; she leaned forward, hands on Prowl's desk. "Do you really think I asked for that?" she told him quietly. "Do you really believe that I purposefully use my gender to elicit favors or to bend rules?" Slowly, her talons inched forth from their sheaths. "What kind of fool does he take me for?"

There was a break in the façade; Prowl was clearly taken aback by her sudden show of avian ferocity. "No –"

She ran right over him, having switched over to single-minded avian-mode. "I have never, ever asked anyone to do anything for me, Prowl. If there's to be any culprit, it's our comrades. They've taken it upon themselves to give me this status. I'm as good a warrior as any of them; I've gotten down and dirty, brawled with the best of them, gotten myself into scraps and gotten myself out. I run Communications, I run surveillance – where, I might add, I've gotten myself into some pretty sticky situations …" With each sentence, Prowl's optics got wider and wider. He could deal with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe with one hand tied behind his back, hanging upside down – but a rampaging femme? Let's say he was out of practice.

Solarflare watched him shrink back slightly, curling her lip slightly in satisfaction. Oh, she was just getting started! "I even run the mail! If something needs to be done around here, guess who gets to do it because everyone else is out on patrol? Me! And do you see me complain? No! Prime wants something from me, he gets it; Wheeljack wants something from me, he gets it; Ratchet, Jazz, Trailbreaker – _you_. Anyone." Metal grated on metal. " 'Favorite,' am I? 'Ark darling'? If you have a problem with that, Prowl, then I respectfully ask you to take it up with them!"

Prowl sat back, the second-in-command's battle computer remaining uncommunicative. This wasn't _quite_ the situation it was programmed for. Give him the Unholy Duo anytime! Perhaps they did go out of their way now and then for her, he thought, but what harm did it cause?

Solarflare was correct when she listed all the ways in which she contributed to the daily goings-on of the Ark's operations. It seemed that the only person up in arms about it was Red Alert – and only when he had a bone to pick with Solarflare. Then again, Red brought anything and everything up when someone "annoyed" him.

Sniffing the perfumed air, Prowl mentally sighed. It would be best if this matter was dropped. "You're dismissed, Solarflare."

On the verge of climbing the analyst's desk, Flare caught herself, mouth hanging open, finger upraised. "What?" She was on a roll, goddammit.

"You are dismissed. Consider this a warning, Solarflare."

Shoulder struts laid back in surprise, Flare began sliding back to the floor, the spikes on her kneecaps scraping down the front of Prowl's desk. The second-in-command grit his teeth, images flashing through his cortex of what havoc had just been wrecked on his furniture.

"I – thank you," she said, sketching a salute. Turning, she moved quickly to the exit. Palming the door open, she grabbed the grav sled and beat a hasty retreat. Prowl wasted no time in depressing the button on his desktop that closed his door. Passing a hand over his chevron, he cast a weary blue-eyed gaze over the five bags that Solarflare had deposited. Was it his imagination or were the bags increasing? Or could it be that the human postal officers were just producing bigger sacks? Probably both, he reasoned.

Never one to postpone the inevitable, Prowl rose and squatted by the bags, his senses reeling from the potent odors that were wafting skyward. Many years ago he had been amused that human females had found him attractive; he responded generously, replying to every letter that he had time for. However, as time passed, he found himself literally swamped with "fanmail" as it was termed – hundreds of thousands of letters and little presents (some that even made the stalwart warrior color) were sent to the Ark in his name. He was getting sick of reading the same lines over and over again: "I LOVE You PROWL!" "Marry me!" "Have my baby!" – Yes, there were quite a few of those last ones; did these females understand anything about Transformer circuitry?

These days, most went straight into the furnace, no guilt attached. What else could he do about it? Go on television and politely ask for the letters to stop? No, that was far too harsh. Someday, he'd come up with a plan.

… Primus, it smelled in here!

Resolutely, Prowl stood up and flicked the air on, feeling the soft breeze blow upwards from the fans hidden in the walls. Already the atmosphere was beginning to clear. Maybe he would move it to his Top Fifty Things To Do – place it right under _carve Sunstreaker and Sideswipe a new cortex._

With a clearer office, the military analyst squatted back down and began rifling through the bags. Pink, pink … oh, look, more pink. Ribbons, bows, lipstick in every shade the spectrum had to offer. As he poked through the first bag, Prowl's thoughts turned to his earlier discussion with Solarflare. Perhaps he shouldn't have dismissed her so soon. She was female after all, had been human before the Decepticons destroyed her flesh and blood body. Yes, Solarflare was right: she was useful, far more than she could ever know.

It was decided. He'd ask her opinion tomorrow.

In private, so no one would get any ideas.

_Oh, Primus, please tell me that is not a thong …_

* * *

Ok, so she wasn't completely flower-free; at least she didn't cause her fellow warriors to pass out in the corridors as she staggered by, low on energy from a furtive night's recharge. Hound was overtly amused, Gears whined, Trailbreaker remained ever-civil. 

"Daisy, daisy, you drive me crazy," Sunstreaker sang in a high-pitched tone, waving a cup of warm oil in front of her face as she sat down in the rec room and promptly face-planted into the table. "Is that a new scent you're sporting, sweetheart? Did Mirage get tired of ozone?"

"Stick it, Sunshine," she mumbled, wings hanging limply by her flanks. "I didn't recharge well last night."

Sunstreaker laughed, rocking back in his chair and propping his feet by her face. "Awr, lonely without your pretty boy to comfort you?" He poked her in her left audio with the tip of his big yellow toe. "You know there's always room in our place if you want to join us."

Flare lifted her head the barest of an inch, enough for her to snap half-heartedly at the Lambo's foot. Sunstreaker laughed and wiggled it in her face. "Now, now, darling, that's not nice. See, I brought you breakfast!" Reaching forward, he set the cup down by her cheek, reflexes honed on the battlefield making sure he kept his hand as her talons descended.

"Don't start, Rosemary," she rumbled as Sideswipe began to giggle. Levering herself up onto one elbow, she grasped the cup and lifted it to her lips, downing it all in one gulp.

The red melee warrior grinned. "C'mon, Flare, don't tell us you lost recharge-time over Mirage's absence."

"No," she replied, feeling a little more awake now that the oil was working its way through her system. "What do you take me for? Clingy? No, I spent half the night playing post woman and then the other half trying to get Prowl's fangirl stink out of my servos."

"Oooh!" Both twins pounced on that bit of information with a level of enthusiasm they usually reserved for kicking Decepticon aft. "How many this time?" asked Sideswipe. "Did you read them?" added Sunstreaker, right on top of his brother.

"You two clairvoyants know the answer to that: no, to both."

Sunstreaker's lips quirked in a lascivious grin and he made a rude gesture with one large, thick black hand at the avian femme. "You're no fun, Flare."

"I smell and I'm tired," she replied, eyeballing her cup and wondering if she was stable enough to totter over to the dispenser and get herself another or try and get one of the twins to do it for her. "My fun-meter is dead."

"Hrmph. Well, I guess you don't want this data-cube then." Sunstreaker casually summoned a blue cube from subspace and began deftly rolling it along his knuckles. "Came last night via stealth-probe."

Solarflare's crest slowly began to rise at the words "stealth-probe." Ok, so he was getting a reaction out of her. The only one who would be using such a thing at this moment was Mirage, who was currently on Cybertron with Perceptor, Wheeljack, Skyfire, Bumblebee and Spike. Her golden optics locked on the small object being casually flitted from one of the yellow warrior's paws to the other. "How goes the mission?" she asked, calculating her chances of actually snatching it away from Sunstreaker.

He grinned and tossed it to Sideswipe, optics twinkling at her instant pout. "Dunno. I wasn't there for the transmission. Jazz just said to give this to you when I saw you. I must say, I still wonder why you stay with the nancy boy. Nothing dirty on that cube at all!"

Only her avian patience kept her from smacking the melee warrior upside the head – with talons. "My cube, if you please, Sideswipe," she finally said, extending her right hand, palm uppermost. The red one looked at the yellow one and grinned.

"Say, 'I love you, Siders.' "

"I love you, Siders," she repeated dutifully, hand still outstretched.

"Now, say, 'Sideswipe interfaces the best.' "

"How about I say, 'Give the lady her data-cube, degenerate'?" Heads swiveled as Prowl walked into the rec room, hands on his hips. "Now."

Rolling his optics, Sideswipe lobbed the small blue cube at the avian warrior. "Gee, Prowl, inhale too much? Was there opium in those letters?"

"Mary Jane, maybe?" Sunstreaker added with a smirk, miming pulling on a joint.

Prowl didn't bite; he never did. "Patrol, degenerates, now."

Grumbling good-naturedly, the twins rose and ambled out, pausing to pat Solarflare on the head and wink. She sighed, pulling her shoulders down and tried to work out the kink they'd just put in her neck joints. Ah, but they meant well. She turned the data cube over in her hand, wondering just what it was her bondmate had sent her. A low, polite cough pulled her out of her thoughts. "Yes?" she asked, a little startled to see Prowl standing by her side.

"Can we talk?"

Struts back, wing-tips twitching, she nodded. "Of course." And gestured to the chairs the twins had just vacated. "Look, Prowl, if it's about last night, I apologize."

"No, no," he interrupted quickly, settling his black and white form. "I actually have a … proposal for you."

Crest quirking, Solarflare ran his words over in her central processor. Was it her imagination or did stalwart, professional Prowl hesitate?

"You're aware that I receive a large amount of mail from the female population of this planet," he began, looking at her from under his chevron. "However, much of it is of a disconcerting nature. I don't mind the occasional letter and I do welcome them, but I feel that this is out of control."

Solarflare listened carefully, casually twisting her empty cup on the table. Of everything the second-in-command could have come to her for, this was something she would never have thought possible.

"I was wondering if you could advise me as to how to proceed."

Oh, boy. Taking the empty vessel in both hands, she sat back as far as the accoutrements between her shoulder blades would allow. "Well, I could just dump all your mail into the furnace." She quirked a grin.

"I considered it, but I still want to read letters from those who truly have something of worth to say."

"Ah, that does put you in a bind."

"Yes." He paused, looking over his shoulder. "Tell me, Solarflare, why?"

Did her aural tracts truly catch a hint of desperation in his vocalizer? Perhaps there was more to this than he was willing to tell her, superior to soldier.

"Why?" She arched a questioning eye ridge.

"Why me?" How many times had she asked that of herself? There was no one true answer, she knew; things happened for a reason and there was nothing one could do about it. "There are many reasons, Prowl," she began slowly, resting her hands on the table, "each one more complex than the next. Humans draw the world around them unto themselves so that they might understand it better. Every one of those girls has a reason why she finds you attractive. Many of us have features that resemble human ones – that alone is a major factor." She paused for his input but Prowl merely inclined his head, arms crossed over his chest, listening intently. "Perhaps some see lusting after you as a means of escape, as having someone to admire. Some might have abusive fathers, abusive boyfriends; they see you as someone who is safe, who does the right thing."

"I have read letters from females in those situations," he replied quietly. "And I always reply."

She nodded, wishing that she had gotten up and refilled her cup. "Those are the most general reasons I can think of."

"And every single one has merit. That alone gives me much to think about. However, there is still the matter of the proposal I have for you. You have the right to refuse anything I present, of course," he added quickly, watching as her crest flicked back and forth, optics going wide at the corners. "I spent some time last night going through the Internet – which is not the most reliable source of information you have here – but I came across some news item on a female-centered website. It spoke of jealousy and how many females become jealous if the object of their affections is seen with another member of their gender."

Uh-huh … and where was he going with this? she wondered, crest ticking back and forth like a grandfather clock.

"I read some more and came to the conclusion that if I wish the volume of mail I receive to diminish, then I must acquire a 'significant other'."

_Oh, shit._ Why hadn't she seen that one coming? _You're way too single-minded, Flare,_ she chided herself. She was the only femme in this whole damned operation, after all! Wait – couldn't Wheeljack build an android? ... Uhm, no, things were better off if she didn't consider the scientist for aid. "How can I help?" she found herself saying.

Prowl spread his hands wide. "I thought about this long and hard, Solarflare. I knew that I could not, in good faith, ask you to play that significant other. It wouldn't be fair. Yet, I see no other option; so, yes, that is the nature of my proposal."

"Well …" She paused, looking down at her hands, at the empty vessel. If it would help … "Sure. We can go on a few walks, be around a bunch of people. I'm sure word will get around."

Prowl made a noise deep in his vocalizer. "And you think Mirage will not mind?"

Solarflare blinked. _Would Mirage mind? That's his biggest concern?_ "No, he wouldn't."

The remaining chair scraped across the floor of its own accord. A neon orange prism flickered into being, revealing the white and blue form of the Ark's resident spy. "Hardly," he agreed in his deep, cultured voice; smiling softly, he placed a full cup of oil at Solarflare's elbow. "She's a big girl, Prowl, she doesn't need to ask me." A big, booming laugh burst from his vocalizer. "What a mission!"

Prowl frowned imperceptibly, perturbed that the conversation had been overheard – but that was Mirage's nature. He nodded. "Your plan works for me, Solarflare. Would you like to try tomorrow?"

Her day off, spent in Prowl's company. Not the entertainment she'd normally would like to seek out. She nodded regardless, thinking of the places she could take the stalwart analyst, some venue that would draw a smile out of his blank exterior. "We could go to the coast, take a walk on the beach. There's bound to be a bunch of tourists there this time of year."

Mirage leaned forward, sliding his bondmate a sly glance. "There's the arcade. If you win her something, keep it. We have far too much stuff." He winked as Solarflare poked him in the ribs with a talon.

Prowl turned his head slowly. "Thank you."

The spy waved a hand in gentle dismissal. "Thank Flare. I have nothing to do with this."

The other mech nodded stiffly. "I expect your report by the end of the day. Tomorrow, at dawn, Solarflare." With that, he stood up, carefully replaced the chair and exited the room, leaving the bondmates to exchange glances.

"With that attitude, it's no small wonder he's unattached," Flare muttered, taking the opportunity to sling back her drink. Damn, that felt good! "When did you get back?"

Mirage watched her with amusement. "Just now. I told you that in message I sent." He paused, noticing the blue cube that lay on the table. "The twins." It was all that needed to be said. She nodded, running her fingers through her crest. "Yeah. So, how did it go?"

"Very well. We secured the piece that Wheeljack needed and managed to pick up a few other things the base is in dire need of. Spent some time bolstering the troops fighting the ground war. I think it's going well, actually."

That was surprising to hear; Mirage rarely voiced his opinion about their chances. "Really?"

He smiled. "Yes. They're doing a good job of undermining the Decepticons." He leaned forward and touched her cheek. "I missed you. It was a long three weeks."

"Mmm-hmmm." She reached out and curled her hand around his, taking comfort in his presence.

"Flare?"

"Yes?" she replied, tilting her head to the side, crest raised expectantly.

"What's that smell?"


	2. The Beach

**Chapter Two**

_I'm a good person, I'm a good person,_ she thought to herself as she slid off their dual recharging bed early the next morning, watching Mirage do some last-minute maintenance on his chronometer. Yes, it had been partly her idea, still, couldn't it have waited – say, a week? There were a hundred different things she could have been doing this fine morning – like sleep in. Ah, but her bondmate had an early patrol to get to; such was the price one paid for love during a war.

Mirage smiled at her and stood up; he paused on his way out, hand on the panel as if he had a sudden thought. Solarflare quirked her crest curiously, yet he said nothing, only moving towards his drawer and started rummaging around. "I was going to give this to you later," he said, head still down, "but I figure now is as good a time as any." He lifted a rectangular box and held it out to her. "Call this a good-luck present for your date today."

Flare's sharp avian facial features twisted in good-humored disgust, plucking the box from his black hands. "You've been around the twins too long," she chided him. "You're getting bad."

The spy snorted good-naturedly and leaned back on the counter, watching her open her gift. Flare lifted the top and her mouth dropped open: nestled in a bed of silk was a wide jeweled collar with a massive fire opal as the centerpiece. "Mirage – where did you get –" Looking up, she was greeted with an empty room.

"Later," his cultured voice whispered from the air. The collar lifted up from the box as if by ghostly means and Solarflare felt herself being turned around. Her invisible mate settled the collar around her next and fastened the clasps. "Later." Phantom lips brushed the top of her helm and he was gone, the door sliding open and shut.

He was good, so very good. She stood up and admired herself in the mirror, purring in amusement as the jewels glittered and gleamed. He had good taste, that spy of hers; as to where he got the money and the means to procure it … well, he'd tell her later. Mirage had been on Cybertron long enough, and he did have some things stashed away after the Towers fell … Smiling at her reflection, Solarflare palmed the door open and jogged down the hall, crest bouncing in time with her movements.

"Grapple, Hoist," she called out genially as she went by the two best friends; waved to Smokescreen and Inferno; threw a wink in Grimlock's direction as the massive, bulky Dinobot clunked his way through the hallway. "Birdgirl way too happy," Grimlock muttered to himself as he watched her go. "Wonder what torqued her circuits." Hey, she might as well go through today with a smile and enjoy herself!

"Hey, Flare!" Wheeljack called out to her, poking his masked face around the corner of his lab. "Got a minute?"

This time, Solarflare did not feel one ounce of guilt as she replied truthfully, "Sorry, Jack, I'm going out with Prowl. Maybe another time?"

The inventor's brow plate rose several inches, but he nodded all the same; Wheeljack was used to being blown off. He waved. "Another time, then," he called after her cheerfully.

A very agitated Prowl was waiting for her when she arrived at the bay doors. The analyst's head turned and he pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning against. "You're late."

_Patience, serenity_, Flare thought, managing to keep the smile from slipping off her face plate. "A lady needs time to make sure she looks her best," she told him sweetly, clasping her hands behind her back – or as far as they were able to go. Once this war was over, she had plans with Mirage to contract someone on Cybertron in order to streamline her robotic form.

Prowl lifted a sardonic eye ridge. Solarflare sighed and dropped all pretenses. "Listen, Prowl, I'm trying, okay? And might I remind you, this was your idea."

"You are correct," he admitted slowly. "And … I apologize. It has been a long time since I performed any … niceties."

Flare huffed. Bah, she couldn't stay angry at him for long; he was like the twins, insufferable, but you got over it. "I don't suppose the object of this 'mission' includes teaching you how to please a lady?"

Prowl slowly unfolded his arms. Was it the early morning light, or did the tactician blush, the glow about his blue optics turning slightly purple? Solarflare coughed, embarrassed by her own forwardness. "Sorry," she hastily said, turning to face the rising sun. _Stupid Flare. No matter the situation, he is a superior officer._

Prowl merely shrugged. "Consider our time together one of equals," he told her. Flare's head whipped around, stunned. And people thought _she_ was the telepathic one.

"Sure, sure," she replied, unable to think of anything more to say on the subject. "Well, shall we go?"

With a curt nod, the analyst transformed; Prowl wasted no time – he was rolling down the rocky path that led into Portland before Flare could even process that he'd moved. Thrown for a complete loop, the avian femme got her own parts into order, her rockets burning red-orange-yellow as she took off from a standstill, sharp optics having no trouble following the Datsun police cruiser.

Prowl crossed through Portland and headed for the open road. Sunset Highway was not that crowded; still, Prowl was determined to keep a low profile, so he wove carefully between the cars, always cautious in case Decepticons were watching. Flare, meanwhile, kept to the clouds; she flew low enough so that she would present no hindrance to passing aircraft and high enough to stay far from human sight. The avian femme occupied her flight time with thoughts of where Prowl might be taking her; sure, Mirage had suggested the beach, but she wouldn't stake any bets on it. For all she knew, they could be headed towards a museum or a zoo – neither of which she was adverse to. Though, she dearly hoped for the beach.

Her off-duty jaunts with Mirage had made her familiar with this area. Sunset Highway branched towards the coast and led into Seaside on the right and Cannon Beach on the left. As far from the beach as they were, Solarflare's complex cortex was already recalling the sights and smells. A few years back, a small group of Autobots consisting of Beachcomber, Windcharger, Cosmos, Silverbolt, Smokescreen, Trailbreaker, Hound and herself had come to Cannon Beach in order to laze the day away, lounging and joking in the great shadow of Haystack Rock, a towering monolith, even by Transformer standards. The rock itself was rounded like an old arrow tip and sat on the edge of the brown-white sands, the ocean lapping at it gently. She had perched on the peak with Beachcomber, quietly listening to the geologist explain how the sea had formed the rock and how it was slowly reclaiming Haystack.

Humans had flocked to them, of course. Still wary, even after all this time, all it took were a few toddlers asking Hound and Trailbreaker to play in the sand for the adults to lose most of their apprehension. Solarflare didn't blame them. They were Transformers, sentient robots and war machines at the same time. No matter what they turned into, the base form always carried destructive weapons.

"_Solarflare." _

"_Yes?" _

"_Right – or left?"_

Cycling her optics to high definition, Solarflare peered through the wispy, cotton candy clouds. Ahead, she could see the ocean and the hotels of Seaside and Cannon Beach rising like coral along the beach. So, he was giving her a choice! "_Left. Towards Haystack Rock."_

Prowl was quiet a moment, the stillness over the comm possibly due to the analyst scrolling through his databanks. "_Quite the natural wonder,"_ he commented finally. "_I take it you've been there before?"_

Curiosity. Solarflare banked, spilling air from her metallic wings, cutting the power running to her boosters by half, then half again, coasting the final couple miles. "_Yes, with a few of the guys. Back a couple years ago. We had fun."_ Out of the corner of one optic, she saw Prowl put on his turn signal and head off the highway, edging towards the bumpers of a few cars that were going over the speed limit. Solarflare's beak curled up slightly at the edges. Prowl would have made a fine cop, she mused, flipping over in a barrel roll to work out the kinks in her servos from staying in glide-mode too long.

She followed Prowl as he turned onto the main road in Cannon Beach, hovering briefly as he pulled to the side of the pavement. Without asking permission to transform, she did so in mid-air, her metallic wings flaring out on either side of her grey body. A collective gasp that was the theme song of all Autobots flowed into her aural tracts, a gasp that quickly turned into a sigh of relief as the humans took in her bright red faction symbols: the one in the center of her chestplate and the two on the back of her wings. She landed with both feet planted firmly in the soft sand of Cannon Beach and turned to face the Datsun police car.

"So much for propriety," she heard Prowl mutter. In a flurry of mechanics, the analyst stood up, walking around the fence that separated the parking lot from the beach proper. "So, what now?"

Flare shaded her optics and peered down the sandy tract. In the distance, about a mile or so, she could see the tents of the carnival; to the right were the more populous areas. The carnival drew her as it had when she was human, but she knew that the whole point of this charade was to get noticed. "Down there," she said, pointing.

Prowl followed her black finger and nodded. "Let's go." He started off with sure strides, leaving Flare behind, shaking her head. Primus help her – please tell her that he wasn't _that_ rusty! With a low cough, she caught his attention. Prowl froze midstride and seemed to be reminding himself of the mission at hand. He doubled back and presented himself before the grey avian femme, arm cocked and held out for her. Flare smiled in her cortex, taking the proffered arm and sliding close to his tall frame, as much as their respective wings would allow.

"I suppose I have a lot to relearn," he mused aloud, staring straight ahead, grey face impassive as always.

Flare tightened her grip around Prowl's arm as a gaggle of teenage beauty queens flowed up to them, covering their mouths and giggling with each other. "Humans have a saying," she began. "That it's like riding a bicycle – you never forget."

"Automatic actions," Prowl mulled over, rubbing his chin with his free hand. "An apt metaphor."

"Mister Autobot," the girls at their feet cooed, blocking their path. "Mister Autobot!"

Prowl turned his head to look at Solarflare. "_Allow me,"_ she sent and turned a very frosty glare onto the girls. "Beat it, honey, he's with me." And tugged Prowl along, not even watching to see if the girls moved out of her way.

Prowl turned his head slightly, looking back at the astounded faces of the human females. The gaze he favored Solarflare was a mixture of awe and respect. "Where did that come from?"

The grey femme shrugged. "Nowhere in particular. I suppose it's something all females have. We have to protect what's ours, after all."

"I thought it was the other way around."

Flare fairly dimpled, if the malleable metal that made up her faceplate allowed such emotions. "We only let you believe it's that way." She glanced back, crest low. "I didn't step on anyone, did I?"

A low chuckle escaped the analyst's lip components, the first that Solarflare had heard in a long time. "No."

Her compressor puffed air through her ventilators and out of her mouth in a sigh of relief. "Good."

They walked on in silence, Prowl staring straight ahead, Flare turning her own head from side to side, trying to enjoy the trip and keep her cortex from fervently wishing it was Mirage's arm she was hanging on to. For the most part, she kept her attention on the children splashing in the waves or building sandcastles within easy line of sight of their parents. Vague, wispy memories of her former childhood self came back as she watched and her lip components turned upwards in a sad, soft smile of remembrance. She didn't miss being a creature of flesh, not these days; but now and again, in the dark of recharging, she dreamed of what she had been, before Ravage had taken her life away.

"Watch out!"

Before Solarflare could react, a football impacted itself dead center, lodging itself under her crested helm, held fast between the curves of her helmet. Flare stumbled backwards, blinded; she dropped her hold on Prowl's arm and scrabbled at the offending object. Talons flicked out of their own instinctual accord and punctured the pigskin. "Oh, damn." Holding the deflated football between her thumb and forefinger, Solarflare held it down and out to the three young men who had jogged up to claim it. "Sorry."

The tallest – and most dense, it seemed – looked at the dead ball with disgust. "You're going to pay for that," he demanded, completely blind as to whom he was speaking to.

"Hey, man," one of his friends whispered harshly, tugging on his sleeve, casting fervent glances at both Flare and Prowl, "those are Autobots, don't be stupid!"

The leader shrugged his pal off. "I don't care, Mike. The broad busted our ball!" And the next moment he was being lifted into the air by a very stone-faced Prowl. The football floated to the sand where it lay forgotten.

"Apologize to my lady, now, degenerate," the second-in-command ordered in a voice he normally reserved for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

Flare stood back, amused. Mirage would have simply given the boy his most offended noblemech look – with one brow ridge raised and sighting down his nose. It also didn't hurt to have a rocket bolted to your shoulder, either.

The boy's mouth hung open as he swung from Prowl's fingertips, over fifteen feet off the ground. "S-s-sorry!" he stammered, tears welling in his eyes. Prowl gave him a long, measured look, gauging the sincerity of the apology. Apparently satisfied, he set the young man down and watched as he and his two friends made a beeline for the cars parked high on the hill.

Prowl straightened, brushing sand from his hands. "Well?"

Flare cocked her head to the side. "Well what?"

"Was that satisfactory 'boyfriend' behavior?"

Flare's lips twitched and she schooled her face back into innocence. "For some, yes."

He folded his arms and looked at her. "What do you mean?"

Solarflare raised her eyes to Primus. "I'm just saying that some guys handle situations differently. And that's okay." She paused and looked at the police car. "You know, Prowl, I'm not going to explain every nuance of relationships with you. You did say," she added, glancing at him out of the corner of one golden optic, "this isn't an educational jaunt."

"Point taken," he replied, gazing across the expanse of Pacific Ocean. "Though, there are so many interesting things to learn about."

Flare laid a slim, black hand on his arm. "Don't analyze, Prowl, just accept things for what they are."

He looked down at her, grey face impassive. "That's asking me to go against everything that I am, Solarflare, against my deepest programming."

She gave him a small smile. "I'm sure if we rooted around in there long enough, we could fix the problem."

"Maybe I don't want to be 'fixed'," he told her icily, dropping her hand from his arm and facing the ocean.

Wings low, crest against her helm, Solarflare stood there, hands hanging down by her sides, at a loss for words. Once again, she damned her free mouth and the trouble it caused. She could spout intelligent conversations one moment and get herself into deep shit the next. The avian side of her cortex did that to her, gave her a boldness and a tongue to match. It was a constant battle to keep the two sides level. Peering about, she decided that she'd said enough for the time being and sat in the sand, not caring that she'd have to scrape it out with a fine brush later. Wrapping her arms around her knee spikes, she lay her head on her forearms, flicking her wings to the center of her back – and found herself wishing Mirage was here, again. They would talk about the children, the waves, the flow of life, anything and everything. They would have laughed about the boy and his football or devised a way to get him back.

At least she had something to look forward to when they got back to the Ark.

Or not. She forgot he would be on patrol all day.

"Prowl! Flare!" a familiar voice bubbled. Solarflare looked up to see Seaspray's blue and yellow hovercraft form spin into view and transform. "What brings you here?" He glanced at the femme. "No Mirage?"

She lifted her head and gave Seaspray a wan smile. "No, not today. He's out on patrol."

The minibot looked to Prowl, but the analyst's back remained to him. "What's eating him?" he burbled, jerking a thumb in Prowl's direction.

"Life," she replied, getting up and dusting the sand from her joints. "What brings _you_ here?" she asked, turning the question back on the hovercraft.

"Patrol. Thought something might be up; Decepticons, you know. Don't usually see Prowl out this far." He leaned close, smelling strongly, but not offensively, of salt water and brine. A lock of seaweed clung to his left shoulder, unnoticed. "Then again, don't normally see _you_ in his company, either."

Flare stared at Prowl's back a moment, watching his door wings raise and fall in time with his ventilator. As succinctly as she could, making sure not to demean Prowl in any way, she explained to the hovercraft what was going on. To her surprise, he laughed. "Maybe you should start renting yourself out to the others. Hang out with Powerglide a time or two, to keep Astoria off his vapor trail."

Setting her hands on her hips, she shook her head at the minibot. "Seaspray …"

Built without a mouth, the minibot could only wink a smart blue optic that doubled as a quirking grin. "Well, if there's no Decepticons about, I think I'll be heading back to sea. Later, Flare." He waved and jogged straight into the ocean, diving in and resurfacing in hovercraft-mode, shooting up a fine spray as his propellers churned. Then he was off, a yellow-blue speck in the distance – and then nothing more.

Left at a loss for what to do, Flare cast her optics about. Prowl still stood with his back to her, looking out to the Pacific. _Well, this day was certainly a bust,_ she thought ruefully. _Then again, what did you expect? It's Prowl, for Primus' sake. Duty and loyalty, logic and analysis. That's who he is. To his very core, like he said._ Flare rubbed the back of her helm and sighed. _Stupid to agree to this. Should've let him drown in his fanmail._

"This way, Solarflare."

Taken by surprise, Flare jumped, wings and crest flying upwards at the sound of Prowl's voice. "Excuse me?"

"The day isn't over yet. And I did promise to win you something, didn't I?"

Mouth component hanging open, Flare stared at the analyst, completely thrown for a loop. "Eh?" was all she could push past her vocalizer. It was the most absurd, out-of-character thing she'd ever heard him say, right up there with the twins and him becoming pals. "Say again?"

Prowl jerked his head to the side, towards the opposite end of the beach. "This way, soldier."

* * *

Solarflare stared at the little ceramic unicorn, her optics zooming across every minute detail. "What on Cybertron is _that_?" Powerglide demanded, slamming down a tankard of oil, droplets flying over the rim and landing on the stained table.

"Unicorn," she murmured, tapping her talons on her helm, her plate of ion sticks and mug of Energon left untouched.

If the jet had a mouth, he would have gawked; rather, his faceplate dropped a few inches. "You've got to be kidding, Flare. That's all that Prowl could've won you?" He laid his hands on the table and leaned forward. "Let me tell you, sweetheart, stick with ol' Powerglide if you want something cool."

Flare raised herself up on one elbow. "Oh, he won some 'cool' things, Glide. Gave them all to the kids." She turned her head, finally realizing that she hadn't touched any of her food. She plucked an ion stick and chewed it thoughtfully before adding, "I don't know if he was acting or not; I didn't ask."

Powerglide regarded her for a moment before sitting back down. "If you don't mind me asking, Flare, why'd you agree to this insane job?"

_I keep asking that myself,_ she thought. "I don't know. Maybe because I feel sorry for the vice commander."

"So you're going out of your way to help him? Come on, Solarflare."

"Look," she replied tiredly, gesturing with a stick to add emphasis to her point, "he asked me, I agreed. Enough said."

"Hey, hey." Powerglide held up his hands, backing down. "Fine, I get you. Don't go all primitive on me, okay?"

"Won't." And she popped the stick into her mouth. _Not yet, anyway_. Lifting her mug, she drained the spark-lifting fluid and wiped her mouth with the back of her slim black hand. A quick check of her chronometer told her that it was getting near the time for the patrols to return. Sliding her chair backwards, she stood up, smoothing her crest with effort and flicking her split white tailfeathers into place. Powerglide watched as she exited and slowly shook his head; why couldn't she be like Moonracer? Practical and open. No, Solarflare was an enigma, torn between three worlds – human, avian and Autobot – and never one to be placed into any category. Looking down, the jet snagged the forgotten bowl of ion sticks, thinking of better times and places.

Solarflare emerged from the bowels of the Ark and set about immediately climbing the deep brown face of Mt. St. Hillary. Hooking her talons into well-worn niches in the rocks, she ascended, moving with practiced ease over the tops of the great orange boosters that protruded into the air. Red Alert's exterior cameras whined in unison, focusing on her instantly. Not in the mood, Solarflare completely ignored them and the protestations of the security director, who gabbled nonsense from the small speaker set in the central monitor. Throwing a pyramidal black leg over the edge, then the other, she stood up high, shading her optics against the setting sun. Stretching out from the horizon, the colors cast out by Sol turned her white paneling interesting shades of pink.

The avian femme crossed the booster's wide barrel and settled down at the mouth, letting her legs dangle over the rim. Her wings flared up and over her shoulders, only to fold back along her spine. Hooking her wrists over each other, Solarflare relaxed, waiting.

Like every other day, they came. First in were the twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, pushing their engines to the limit, racing each other in a new bout of Who's The Fastest. They darted into the hold, pausing long enough to honk loudly and shout new lewd phrases they'd obviously picked up from Howard Stern. Solarflare waved, turning her attention back to the horizon. Next came Skyfire, followed closely by three Aerialbots. Always cordial, Skyfire dipped his right wing in greeting, before diving headfirst into the open mouth of the volcano. Fireflight, Silverbolt and Air Raid took a similar route, but only Silverbolt, the Aerialbot leader, dipped his wings in accord. Flare had long ago taken to shrugging off the affront, acknowledging the fact that more than one Aerialbot viewed her as a rival in the skies – and Fireflight believed her to be a kiss-up who liked to pretend to be a great royal hawk and perch on Skyfire's arm for fun.

Then Huffer, Brawn, Trailbreaker, Smokescreen and Bumblebee appeared. All honked and called out as she gaily waved back. Finally, long after darkness had tucked the Ark in for the night, came Hound and Mirage. This was the moment she'd been waiting for; kicking with her pyramidal black feet, she hopped down from the boosters. Strong, slim black hands caught her, spun her around and planted her delicately on the hard-packed ground.

"How was it?" Mirage asked without preamble, looping his arm around her waist.

Solarflare's face lost its elated smile and she dropped her head an inch before facing her bondmate. "Truthfully? I don't think I should have done it."

The spy frowned, gently leading her into the main hanger bay. "That bad."

Solarflare gestured helplessly in the air. "It's not that, Raj. I know the basic purpose is to stem the flow of mail, but I just don't think it's the best possibly solution. That, and I don't know how I'm supposed to do it." She paused, causing both of them to stop in the middle of the bay. Mirage let her go and stood facing her, arms crossed, listening. "Prowl's a celebrity. You just can't … stop that. We met a couple of girls on the beach; I did my best to act like the possessive mate, but I highly doubt they're going to go home and forget about him."

"You think this will increase his mail flow."

Her crest lifted minimally. "Yes. Into hate mail."

"Deadlocked, then."

She nodded and rubbed the back of her helm. "Apparently." She sighed. "I don't want to give up on this though. He needs help and dammit, he asked me." Atop her head, her tri-fold crest flicked back and forth, belaying her conflicting emotions.

Mirage inclined his head. "Understandable. I know you'll figure something out, Flare. You're good at that." He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "Don't forget, I'm here if you need me."

Fresh resolve flooded her then, her golden optics lighting up. Mirage smiled and tweaked her chin. "Prowl just best remember that you're mine."

Leaning into his side, she all but purred. "I don't think anyone can forget that." Looping her hand around his, Solarflare and Mirage shut the Ark bay doors and ascended into the heart of the land-locked space cruiser to give their reports.


	3. The Fan's Lament

**Chapter Three**

With reader pad in hand, Prowl strolled purposefully through the Ark's wide orange halls. Voices flowed from the open bridge door as he came closer. Curious, he ran through the on-duty roster; only Solarflare was supposed to be up here at this hour, having been successfully pried from her post in the adjacent facility. Prowl paused and stood full in the doorway – Solarflare was indeed where she was supposed to be, sitting in the chair facing Teletraan-1's main screen. On the floor, chest-deep into the supercomputer's guts was Blaster; small blue and yellow sparks flew from a laser pen the communications expert held in one hand. Neither noticed Prowl's presence, so he did not feel obligated to move on.

Carefully, he analyzed the situation. Solarflare seemed her normal self – which was joyful and easy-going. They had not spoken to each other since the day at Cannon Beach, nearly two weeks ago. In the interim, Prowl's mail had steadily increased – and not in a good way. As he had hypothesized, the ratio of jealous letters versus "love" letters had tipped in favor of the bad. Rather than calling it quits, he decided that they would give it another go. Prowl was not one to lie down when things got muddy; this was a combat zone, of sorts, and that was how he treated it. And while in a combat zone, warriors had to work with other soldiers with whom they weren't all that friendly with.

Prowl was quite aware of the fact that Solarflare had mixed feelings about this whole ordeal; it was present in the way she talked with him, in the manner in which she carried herself whenever she saw the second-in-command. And try as she might, she couldn't quite control the way her emotions flowed through to that absurd crest on her helm. As with every other Autobot, Prowl could read her like a book if he took the time. And yet, she did not come to him, or send a request, to terminate the project. For that matter alone, he gave her a little more of his respect. He admired those who stuck to their convictions and their promises, even when things got dirty.

"Try it now, Flare," Blaster was saying. Solarflare nodded and pulled a thin wire with a nodule at the end of it from a recessed plate in her neck, drawing the line out and sticking it into a corresponding port in Teletraan. She stood up, fingertips resting lightly on the control board before her and toggled the images that formed on the screen with a keypad that lay at her right hand.

"Not bad," she murmured softly, shutting the screen down and unhooking herself from Teletraan. "How'd you do it?"

Blaster pushed himself out from under the belly of the supercomputer and sat up, rubbing the kinks out of his neck servos. Folding his legs, he shut the panel and began packing his tools away into a compartment on the left side of his box-chest. "There was a short in the main connection wire," he explained. "That's why you were getting those jolts."

Flare nodded, resting her left arm on the back of the chair. "Figured as much, but I know next to nothing about how to fix these things."

Blaster grinned. "Always happy to oblige a fellow comm officer."

She grinned back at him and swiveled lightly in her chair – and saw Prowl. Instantly, her tri-fold crest flicked backwards to lay flat against her grey helm. Caught, Prowl nodded curtly. "Carry on," he said, stepping back and away from the door, his feet carrying him towards his original destination – that of Optimus Prime's office.

* * *

Blaster paused in rolling up the laser pen's chord and slid his optics in Solarflare's direction. "Something wrong, Flare?"

Pursing her lip components, the avian femmebot shook her head. "No, not really." And frowned when she discovered that she sounded as unconvinced as she felt. "Okay, fine," she began, leaning back in her chair, laying her hands in her lap. "It's just – awkward to be around him. We haven't talked since he took me out to Cannon Beach. I don't know how to approach him on the matter."

"Well, I'm sure you'll figure something out. That grav bed's got to be getting heavy."

"And horribly smelly," she agreed, facial plates screwing up. "I was up half the night last week. Took three runs through the ionizer."

Blaster smirked. "Ever consider asking for an assistant?"

She stretched, crest slowly working its way back to a vertical position. "The thought has crossed my mind – more than once. Carly's company is nice, but it'd be better if there were more femmes around – especially unattached femmes." Blaster chuckled at this one and Solarflare found her good humor returning. "I've approached Optimus a few times over the years; he hasn't exactly come out and denied my request, but as you can see," and she spread her arms out, "there aren't any bouncing beauties here."

"He's probably thinking about it from a tactical point of view," Blaster noted. "We're not pressed for troops at the moment."

Solarflare's crest flicked in agreement. "But we will if Megatron keeps building more combiners." She rubbed the back of her helm idly. "Ah, well, that's neither here nor there. I need to get back to work. Thanks a lot, Blaster. I owe you."

"Any time, sweetheart." The boombox finished packing up his gear, gave a wave to Solarflare and left the bridge. Flare watched him go and turned back to the great blue screen that was Teletraan-1. Normally, she had no trouble letting go of her surroundings and immersing herself in the here-and-now that was her work. Prowl's presence had unsettled her more than she had told Blaster – more than she herself knew. _Why should it?_ she thought, toying with the wire that dangled from her neck. Because she was uncomfortable, that's what it was; the idea of parading around, acting like she and Prowl were an item turned her processor. Part of her felt like she was betraying all that she and Mirage had done for each other, for the sacrifices, both big and small. Deep in her spark, she knew _that_ was silly, but it didn't ease the guilt, or the longing she felt on Cannon Beach.

Still.

She had vouched her participation in this mission; her avian pride wouldn't allow her to back down. They were in this together, whether or not Prowl realized it. She still had mail duty – and that wasn't getting any easier these days. What Prowl did not know was that she was getting her share of hate mail –that didn't sit well with her, but it was understandable.

Teletraan-1 chimed – something the supercomputer never did. Solarflare's head snapped up and she slammed the connection wire into the port, jolting her cortex with an influx of information.

"_Hello? Hello there?"_

Flare leaned forward, toggling switches and knobs, trying to get a fix on the transmission; the other half of her cortex was analyzing the person's tone and infliction. So far, she detected no discernable distress. Loaded with static as it was, she couldn't quite get a handle on who was speaking.

A mic slid from a recessed panel in her jaw, curving around to her mouth. Connected as she was to Teletraan, she had a greater chance of being heard on the receiving end than the person making the call. "This is Autobot Solarflare; I receive you. State your name and emergency."

Above, Teletraan's blue screen blurred with black and white bars. "_Szzzzzhhhhhfllrrrrr?"_

"Repeat. This is Autobot Solarflare. State your name and emergency."

Black and white bars slowly turned in on themselves, gaining color and consistency. Solarflare's fingers flew over the control board with practiced ease, doing everything she could on her end to get a better connection. A burst of static rattled her audios; she lifted a hand and rapped herself smartly, clearing it.

"_Szzolarfzzzare?"_ the human repeated. On-screen, Teletraan struggled to produce a better image. Slowly, the colors shifted, forming a blurry, but recognizable picture. What she saw made Solarflare groan.

"Astoria, how many times have you been told that this is an emergency line?"

Due to the image-quality, Astoria might have been wearing a hat – but she could also have had a badger sitting on her head. Solarflare made a mental note, right next to changing the codes, to have Wheeljack cobble the silly girl a proper comm station. The girl shrugged. "_I try the one you gave me, but Powerglide _never _returns my calls!"_ What could have been a pout appeared to split Astoria's face completely in half. Not pretty. "_Is he around?"_

Now, Flare could be cruel, or she could be kind – in Powerglide's favor, of course. But the look on Astoria's distorted face made her reach over and say, "One minute, I'll see if I can find him." Plugged into Teletraan-1, she knew who was where and thus she knew that the red jet was in the Ark. Regulating Astoria's grainy image to the lower right-hand corner of the main screen, she hailed Powerglide on all-comm. A moment later, the jet replied: "_What?"_

"Are you near a comm unit?"

"_Yes. Why?"_

"You've got a call."

Powerglide's face burst to life on the main screen, his optics narrowed. "_Oh, no, not her! Why didn't you say I wasn't around, Flare? Geez!"_

"She's your problem, Glide. I need to clear the line; I'm forwarding her to you – now!" Okay, so part of her felt guilty, but everyone agreed that Astoria was Powerglide's responsibility. Simultaneously, she shut the connection to Astoria and forwarded her to the hall-comm Powerglide was standing near. From there, he could shut her off or shuttle her to his personal station; his choice.

Sufficiently distracted from her thoughts on Prowl, Solarflare concentrated on scanning the various human frequencies, at the same time keeping an audio on the comm-chatter produced by those on patrol. Some hours later, she was pulled from her trance by a shake on the shoulder – the only way she could be brought back to the present … well, other than being smacked or shocked. She preferred the former to the latter.

Prowl.

"Your report, Solarflare," he pronounced, setting his hands behind his back.

Slowly, she unplugged herself, letting the cable slide back into its niche in her neck; let the mic slip into her jaw. Automatically, her black hands reached for the slim data pad she kept next to her at all times while on duty. This she handed to the second-in-command, who spared no time in delving into its contents, Cybertronian script scrolling visibly past his blue optics.

"Another call from Miss Carlton-Ritz?"

Thorough to a point of obsession when at comm, Solarflare had indeed noted her call from Astoria. "Aye," she replied, inclining her head in that unique raptor way. "I thought of asking Wheeljack to make her a comm unit of her own, one tied to Powerglide's – and his only."

"Good idea," Prowl murmured. "I'll change the codes immediately. Stay on a moment, will you, Solarflare? I want you to send the new changes to the world leaders as soon as possible."

Solarflare stood up in deference to Prowl's higher rank, crossing the room to sit at one of the smaller stations, ready for the black-and-white's instructions. It took mere minutes to set the new codes and for Solarflare to relay them around the globe. Once she was certain they were in the proper hands, she cut the connections and passed a hand over her crest. She always came away from duty a little weary, putting much of her energy into it.

"Here."

A cup of Energon was pressed into her hands. Solarflare looked up, golden optics wide. "Thank you," she managed to murmur, bending her head to take a sip. The energy flowed through her body, revitalizing her waning systems.

As she was drinking, Prowl pulled up a chair and sat some distance from the grey-white-black avian femmebot. He waiting until she was finished before speaking. "You're off-duty now, Solarflare, but might we talk?"

Somewhat revived, she set the cup aside and swiveled to face the second-in-command. "Yes," she replied, a touch of hesitation in her vocalizer.

"Might you be interested in a walk tonight? Just downtown, nothing fancy."

Here it was, her chance to refuse, to wipe her cortex clean. Yet, as she looked across the room, she saw in Prowl's optics an openness that she hadn't seen before, and she knew that she wouldn't have refused in the first place. "Sure, just let me get myself energized. Say, ten minutes? I'll meet you in the bay." At Prowl's curt nod, she rose and struggled to keep her legs from bolting her out of the bridge. Once out of sight, she leaned up against the wall, tooled helm pressed against the cool orange surface.

"Don't go if it hurts that bad," a quiet voice spoke from behind. Solarflare turned and saw First Aid casually leaning up against the opposite wall. The Protectobot medic stood up, his arms crossed over his chest. "Well?"

Abashed, Solarflare rubbed the back of her helm, wings sinking so that the black metallic tips grazed the floor. "Usually, I consult my patients about avoiding that which causes them undue distress," First Aid continued, coming up beside her and slipping an arm around her shoulders, inexorably leading her down the hall to his office.

Solarflare sighed. "I'm just … uncomfortable, Aid. But I still want to help."

"Duly noted," the junior medic replied, tapping his fingers on her shoulder strut. "Here. I'll hail Prowl and let him know that you'll be about a half an hour late, on my orders." Flare gave him a wan smile and let herself be led through the double doors and into First Aid's own little corner of Ratchet's larger med-bay. She sat on a low-slung bench and watched as First Aid called up Prowl and explained that he was holding Solarflare for a bit while he evaluated her propensity to come away partially drained from comm-work. The second-in-command seemed no wiser and agreed to meet Flare within the hour. First Aid cut the connection and turned, going over to an Energon dispenser and drawing two mugs of the pink liquid.

"More than I bargained for," he idly remarked, passing Flare her own mug, drawing his chair up from the other side of his tiny desk and placing it before her. "So, what's wrong?"

She shrugged, struts rising and falling. "Just uncomfortable," she repeated lamely. "There's no other way to put it."

First Aid leaned back. "You think that he might be attracted to you, and because Mirage is constantly out on patrols, you have no one to turn to." He grinned at Flare's open-mouthed response. "That spy of yours makes slaggin' sure that you're taken care of when he's not around. He spoke to me a few days ago when I was mending a busted axel, told me what you were going through."

Flare's crest flicked up and back, more embarrassed than anything. First Aid set his cup aside. "Look, Flare, if it's any consolation, I highly doubt Prowl's making a move for you. You said it yourself, you're helping him." The Protectobot medic gave a short, cheerful laugh. "Everyone on this base knows that you have optics only for Mirage."

Slowly, Flare's trifold crest rose and her head lifted. "Thanks, Aid," she said at last. "I needed to hear that."

"Ah, don't sweat it, Flare. Just doing my duty. Now, drink up. Don't want you passing out from low fuel downtown."

"Yes, sir," she replied with mock-meekness, tossing the Energon down like a pro. Well, she didn't hang around with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker without picking up a few – interesting – habits!

First Aid goggled but quickly regained his professional demeanor. "All right, since I have you for a bit, let's check out your reserves. I _do_ want to know why you feel drained after comm-work. Over here, please, Miss Solarflare."

Well within the prescribed time, Solarflare was released from First Aid's care with the promise of returning first thing tomorrow to fix the conductors and conduits that were allowing her Energon processor to leak fuel while under stress. Feeling much better – in both cortex and spark – she did her customary jog through the halls. As with before, Prowl was waiting for her in the main hanger bay; he heard her coming and stood up from the beam he was leaning against.

"You seem … better," he said. "Was First Aid able to diagnose you?"

Flare was about to ask what he was talking about when she remembered that Prowl had no idea what had occurred between her and the medic. However, she could reply with a clear conscious that, "Yes, he was. Apparently I have a glitch in my conductors that's allowing Energon to leak under stress."

Concern flickered across Prowl's grey face. "Shouldn't you be in surgery right now?"

Touched, Solarflare strolled along the bay floor to stand beside the analyst. "No, Aid said I would be fine. The leak only occurs when I'm working. Something to do with how Ratchet, Perceptor and Wheeljack designed me. Guess they didn't account for my occupation." She turned her head, crest quirking in good humor. "So, where to?"

"A stroll downtown," he replied, surprising her by offering his arm. "I learn quickly," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in humor. Solarflare considered the possibility of reminding Prowl that it was a few miles into Portland, but she took the proffered arm regardless. As they stepped out into the waning day, Red Alert's cameras followed them – at least momentarily. A quick glance backwards told Solarflare all she needed to know – the cameras, which would have normally been pointed in her direction, were sweeping the perimeter, as if Red had dismissed her by being in Prowl's presence. _So, Marvin has a limit_, Flare thought with a private, satisfied smile.

They walked in silence, each scanning the horizon and sky above for Decepticon activity. Though nothing had happened within the past few months, Megatron was known to hide for a while before attacking for no apparent reason. Such was war, Solarflare had discovered.

"I ordered that comm-unit for Miss Carlton-Ritz," Prowl said out of nowhere, causing Flare's crest to jerk up at the sudden noise. "It will be delivered to her place of residence tomorrow."

Prowl – making small talk? Curious and curious, Solarflare ruminated. "Oh? That's good. I'm sure Powerglide will be happy."

"He's lucky," the analyst continued, a hint of … jealousy? … in his vocalizer.

Flare tilted her head to the side, stepping over a rock that protruded from the ground. "Lucky? I don't think Glide would call it 'luck', more like 'torture', as I've heard him term it."

"Tell me, Solarflare," he said in that tone that reminded her of his first approach two weeks ago, "why does Powerglide tolerate her presence?"

Steel-tipped wings rose and fell along with Flare's struts as she shrugged. "Probably because, deep inside, he's fond of her."

Prowl appeared to ruminate on this tidbit of knowledge and did not speak to her again until they reached the highway. "Why the twins?" he blurted out suddenly, holding her back as a car drew too close to the breakdown lane.

If this was Prowl's way of getting to know her, he could have picked better topics, she thought. "Dunno. They just kinda grew on me. I don't know if they respect me or not, but they're good to me, and I know I can count on them if necessary."

"Like the battle in Tacoma," the second-in-command recalled, "when they held off Devastator while Hound pulled you free from the warehouse wreckage."

"Yes," she replied, astonished by his instant recollection of events. She hoped that he wouldn't get _too_ personal and start asking her things like "why Mirage"? Slag, everyone in the Ark knew _that_ story! "Just like that. They can be incessant fools, but deep down, I think they're good sparks."

Prowl snorted. "Sparks who like to duct tape superiors to the mess walls, set loose ten thousand mice in the med-bay; good sparks who would rather run amuck than roll with us."

"Yes, even with stuff like that happening," she conceded.

Prowl looked down at her, as if noticing her presence by his side for the first time. "You keep unusual company, Solarflare."

She merely shrugged. "When one is unusual unto herself, like follows like."

They crossed the highway and headed into the city proper. Cars pulled up on the side of the roads and drivers and passengers got out to witness this most incredible occurrence. Nobody had ever seen two Autobots strolling arm and arm into the city – _especially_ these two.

"And what about yourself, Prowl?" she asked, anxious to get the heat off her personal life. "Why the logic?" She'd rather ask, _What's with the stiff attitude?_, but she had limits.

"It's part of my programming."

"Yes, I understand that, but as far as I know, programming only sets the field. You can do whatever you'd like with that programming – even discard it if you wish."

A glance to the right affirmed what she had suspected. Prowl got agitated when his programming was questioned. "I'd like to abandon this line of discussion, if you please, Solarflare."

She frowned; it was completely unfair. "But – it's only conjecture. And I answered your questions," she added, hoping that fact would press him into replying.

Prowl paused, right under a large sign for light bulbs. They were deep into Portland now, and the pedestrians stopped right along with them, staring up at the black-and-white mech and grey-white-black femmebot. They muttered amongst themselves, not understanding what was going on. "They were superficial," he finally said, tugging on her arm, leading her forward.

"Define 'superficial'. Maybe for you, but not for me."

With a huff of his ventilators, Prowl halted for a second time. "What do you wish of me, Solarflare? What will this round of questions prove?"

"Honesty, equality." She let go of his arm, placing her hands on her hips, looking up at him. "What I'd expect from anyone I'm in a relationship with. Give and take, Prowl."

The analyst lifted his head to the star-strewn sky as if communing with Primus. "Fine. You asked about my programming, why I chose to retain my status as a logic officer. I enjoy it; it fills me with such a sense of purpose … I feel … I feel I would be lost and defunct if I did not have it." His lip components clicked shut and Solarflare was left with the feeling that he was holding back more than he chose to convey. Oh well; she was satisfied for now.

"You know nothing else."

"Yes."

"Understandable."

They walked on under the neon lights of the city, drawing quite the crowd wherever they turned. But they neither acknowledged nor ignored, pointedly stepping around folk when they tried to approach. That is until someone threw a rock at Solarflare. The avian femme whirled about, her wings automatically rising above her shoulders in savage raptor display. Another rock pinged off her lower torso, lodging there.

"Hey!" she roared, optics scanning quickly for the culprit. Prowl was by her side, one hand on his hip, the other pulling a long baton from subspace, which he casually began to twirl.

When the next rock hit, she was able to discern the source. People parted like the Red Sea as the avian femme crossed the street and stood looking down her thin nose at the tear-streaked teenage girl, barely out of childhood, who was rooted to the spot, another rock in her fist. Before Solarflare could open her mouth, the girl threw the rock down at the Autobot's foot and ran away, pushing through the gathering crowd, her howls of misery wafting back to Solarflare's acute audios.

Crushed, Flare straightened, watching the ripple of humanity as they stepped aside for the child. Prowl's hand touched her shoulder strut. "What happened?"

Flare's optics never left the path. "You broke her heart," she said quietly.

* * *

Solarflare paused at her door, optics roaming over the burnished silver plate that bore hers and Mirage's names. Feeling weary, she punched the combination and was relieved to hear the pneumatic hiss that preceded the opening. Inside their shared bunk it was dark, save for the few flickering lights on the dual recharging bed. She stepped into the onyx blackness and closed the door behind her, making her way via memory around the various knick-knacks (mostly his) on the floor. Twin sky blue lights illuminated the ceiling as she heaved herself onto the charging bed; a boxy white arm, illuminated light blue, wrapped itself around her and held her close as she curled into Mirage's side. The spy's other arm pulled his charger chord from his side and inserted into his bondmate's self-same port, knowing that whatever happened tonight, she needed the extra energy more than he. 


	4. Dance, Dance, Dance!

**Chapter Four**

"Prowl."

"Pardon?"

Prime uncrossed his arms and turned from Teletraan's main screen to look at his second-in-command. "Is there something amiss, Prowl? You haven't answered any of my questions."

The black-and-white glanced down at his data pad, which remained uncharacteristically blank. "I – haven't?"

Optimus took a few steps and placed a heavy blue hand on Prowl's shoulder. "No." He studied the analyst a moment, clear blue optics filled with the wisdom of the Matrix.

"I apologize, Prime," Prowl replied quickly, taken aback by this sudden show of weakness. "Might we go over it again?"

Whatever lay emotion that lay behind that battlemask did not make it to Prime's optics. "Negative. Why don't you take the rest of the day off? You've clearly other things on your mind. Go to the city, or to the beach. I hear you had a good time with Solarflare a few weeks ago." The Autobot's leader paused, released his hand from Prowl's shoulder. "What were you doing with Solarflare anyway?"

Prowl hesitated, caught between his loyalty to Prime and his wish that his excursions with the avian femme be kept to as few mechs as possible. It was bad enough that it had gone beyond he, Solarflare and Mirage – but for Prime to know?

Not one to outright lie to his commander, Prowl stuffed the last bits of his pride into his ankle joints and replied truthfully, "Being seen, sir."

Optimus raised a hand to his chin and rubbed it thoughtfully, as he was known to do when rolling ideas over in his cortex. "Is that so. Why?"

The embarrassment was too much to bear, but Prowl pressed through. After this was over and done with he was going to stay a long way away from humans – for a couple thousand cycles. And burn all incoming mail. "To make the human women jealous."

Prime was clearly unimpressed with his twins-like succinct responses. "Out with it, soldier," the large red-white-and-blue mech demanded in his best parade tone, hands clasped behind his back.

Prowl could relay casualties with autonomic precision; he could give orders crisply and without guilt; he could come up with one hundred and ten ways to run a course – backwards. He could not, however, look Optimus Prime in the optic as he told his tale. To his immense chagrin, Prime could not contain the thin chuckle that escaped from behind the battlemask; it was the worse laugh-turned-cough Prowl had ever come across. After clearing his vocalizer, Prime unclasped his hands and crossed them back in front of his chest.

"Well, I see. What an … unusual predicament you have found yourself in. Are you sure that this is the best way to approach the situation?"

Too sophisticated and disciplined to retort "What else would you have me do?" Prowl shrugged. "It's the best we could come up with."

"Good luck then. You're dismissed, Prowl," Prime added when Prowl remained, data pad clutched in his hand. Optics blinking, the patrol car nodded and exited with a smart salute.

"Hey! Prowl! Prowl, baby!"

Indifferent and lost in his own cortex wanderings, Prowl kept walking until Jazz's hand descended onto his shoulder. "Man! Didn't you hear me?"

With a long-suffering sigh, Prowl turned to face the saboteur. "What?"

Smiling that insufferable smile, Jazz cocked his head back down the hall. "Got a plan for ya. There's a big bang-up concert in the park. Wanna come?"

Frowning, Prowl declined. "No, thank you, Jazz. It's appreciated, but no."

"And why not?" he pressed. "Have you a better idea? I'm tellin' ya, man, there's gonna be chicks up the yin-yang there. Perfect spot."

Really, he preferred to come up with plans involving his own sanity by himself. With a sigh that heaved his chest plate up and down several inches, Prowl turned back around. "What time?" he heard himself ask.

With a grin that bespoke that Jazz knew exactly what he was thinking, the saboteur winked. "Meet us outside at 6; concert starts at 8." Jazz lifted his hand in an indolent wave and moseyed back the way he'd come, leaving Prowl clutching the data pad with uncharacteristic irritation.

* * *

When Prowl left the main hanger bay, he found not only Jazz and Blaster, but Solarflare as well. This was completely unexpected, and it threw his battle computer for a loop. The grey-black-white avian femme turned her head and spied him, lifting her hand in greeting, a warm smile crossing her sharp-planed face. Logic told him that he _should_ have expected to see Solarflare there, especially since she was known to enjoy Jazz and Blaster's company almost as much as she did the twins. However, her reaction popped a circuit or two; it was immediately followed by the rationale that she had come to terms with their "relationship".

Prowl paused, hesitated but a parsec. It was too subtle for anyone without his training to notice, but it unsettled him. As far as he was considered, they had no relationship of which to speak – an unwilling partnership, but nothing that could come as close to the friendships she had with the other mechs. In any case, he had no desire to step between Flare and Mirage. The spy was still a wildcard as far as Prowl was concerned, no matter how hard he fought, nor the amount of good deeds he'd performed.

As he drew closer, he saw that Solarflare was winding several strands of glowing wire around her neck, waist and wrists. "You look like the Sears Tower on a clear night," Blaster was quipping, flicking one of the bulbs that dangled from her neck. Solarflare laughed, her vocalizer touched with a hint of avian shriek.

"As long as they don't try to find the elevator to the top, I think I'm good," she shot back, then turned to Prowl. "Want some?"

Prowl eyed the glows with a certain amount of contempt. "No, thank you."

Solarflare merely shrugged and walked over to Jazz, looping the strand around his pronged helm. "Heh-heh, baby doll. Well, looks like we're all accounted for, let's get going." Like a well-oiled machine, Jazz transformed; a second later, so did Solarflare and Blaster, the former picking the later up in her strong black talons and pushing him through Jazz's open window. Acutely, Prowl realized that he was the odd-one out in this little triad – the straggler on the edge of society, the awkward loner who was invited for sympathy. Nevertheless, he had initiated the events that had led up to this moment, and his own personal thoughts be damned, he was going to follow it through. A moment later, he transformed and was following Jazz down the rocky road, the dark shadow of a massive metallic avian coating his hood.

Throughout the drive, Prowl kept silent, listening to the comm-chatter of the other three. When they finally reached their intended destination, he was only too happy to relinquish his alternate form and mingle with the humans. Almost shyly, he found Solarflare slipping up to her post on his arm. "What do you think?" she asked conversationally, looping her hand through his, lacing silver fingers and black. Prowl coughed, for the first time since their arrival actually taking in his surroundings. He was not impressed whatsoever.

They were in a park, standing quite a ways away (by human standards) from the main stage, which appeared to be cobbled together only moments before and seemed held through spit, gum and a prayer. The breeze picked up the foul odors wafting from the stage front and passed them under Prowl's olfactory sensors. "Primus!" he exclaimed, shaking free of Solarflare's light grasp and waving his hand under his nose component. "Marijuana!"

Heads turned at his rather loud omission and Flare quickly grabbed his arm, hauling it down. "Prowl," she hissed, standing on her tip-toes and placing her mouth close to his audios. "Not so loud! Yes, there's drugs here, but let it go. I know you're inner cop rebels against it, but just do us all a favor and let it slide."

Gears clicked and whirled in Prowl's cortex. Again with the programming! He turned his head away from Flare's and looked over at Jazz and Blaster. Porsche and boombox were down on the ground, chatting with a gang of black-clothed humans as blue-tinted smoke wafted all around. Sighing, Prowl shook his head, running the tips of his fingers over his chevron, seeking inner peace.

"Prowl," Solarflare repeated more firmly. "Chill, okay? Come on, it's almost time."

"_Chill, Prowl," she says,_ he thought. How could he, when there was chaos reigning all around him?

"_Prowl,"_ she repeated more firmly over their internal-commlink, talons sliding out of their sheaths and digging into his plating as a reminder. "_The façade can't be properly maintained if you look like I'm about to remove your laser core."_ She tilted her head to the side, looking at him expectantly.

The analyst sighed, his doorwings shifting over his shoulders. Nothing seemed to be going his way, not since he proposed this ludicrous plan to Solarflare in the first place. Perhaps, he thought sullenly, because he had too high of expectations – and perhaps, he didn't know what to expect in the first place.

"Flare!" Blaster called out as a thick drum riff shot out over the crowd. The boombox came bounding over, a slight ring of smoke around his horned head, hands outstretched, reaching down for the avian femme's waist. "Dance!" he shouted as the music picked up, drowning out whatever else he was going to say as the band took to the stage and a few thousand organic voices began to roar in appreciation. And just like that, the communications mech plucked Solarflare from Prowl's arms – and the analyst couldn't believe that he felt shafted.

"Well, I don't know about you, but if some dude stole my chick from me, I'd be pissed off."

"Pardon?" Prowl turned his head and looked down, locking onto a short, scruffy-looking human male whose hands were stuffed into the pockets of an overlarge black trench coat.

"She _is_ your girl, isn't she?"

It took a millisecond for Prowl to run the human's strange vernacular through his processor, not long enough for the male to suspect anything, though. "Well, yes," he replied after a short pause, lifting his head and peering out from under his chevron at the odd motions Blaster and Solarflare were making. The grey femme had her wings slicked close to her central line, glowing sticks swaying about her as she moved. "She is." The man just settled a long, measured and knowing look upon the black-and-white cruiser before turning away and melting into the gyrating crowd.

Prowl was too smart not to know what the human was trying to tell him. Raising his doorwings, he walked through the slew of humanity and took Solarflare by the arm. "You're with me, remember?"

Flare's optics widened considerably and she flicked glances at Jazz and Blaster. Both mechs shrugged and moved on to entertain themselves with some human females dancing atop a truck bed. Then her gaze swept across Prowl's impassive grey face, trying to discern the source of this madness. She found none.

"Dance with me, Solarflare?"

She smiled softly. "You lead, or me?"

The corners of Prowl's optics glowed a faint rose. "You." And so she did, moving with a fluidity Prowl hadn't thought they were capable of – Solarflare's hips swung, her legs moved and her arms wrapped around his neck.

"Let go," she whispered. And surprisingly, he did.


	5. Epilogue: My Sacrifice

**Chapter Five**

Something wasn't right. Mirage pulled to a stop on the edge of Ark territory and hastily transformed, throwing up his shield. Slowly, the spy rose to his feet, leaning over the harsh surface of a boulder, optics and radar swinging in tandem as he scanned the area. He lay silent for a good fifteen minutes, finger tapping the trigger of his hunting rifle in anticipation of an ambush – not that anyone would have seen him. Satisfied that there was nothing amiss in the form of Decepticons, Mirage declared and slipped his rifle back into place along its niche in his side, dismissing the precognition and blaming it on an overtaxed cortex.

He walked the rest of the way to the Ark, figuring that it was pointless to use his alamode when he was just going to transform when he reached the main hanger bay. As he strolled along, his optics swept up to land on their usual place above the boosters. What he noticed laid him flat in his tracks – Solarflare was not there.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, casting shadows, he reasoned. Flare was grey, after all.

Yet, as he drew closer, the reason behind his previous ill-feelings came rushing back to him. What had shot foreboding through his circuitry was not the presence of Decepticons, but the non-presence of his bondmate. It all but floored the spy.

_She's always here_, he thought, jogging up to the side of the wide boosters and looking up. All that greeted him was the ubiquitous whine of Red Alert's cameras. _Always._

Urgency sped him along the corridors, up to the barracks, completely bypassing the bridge and almost running over Powerglide as the miniplane entered the hall.

"Mirage!"

The spy spun around. "Where's Solarflare?" he demanded of Powerglide. The small red jet held up his hands, never one to cause strife between he and the spy.

"Still out with Prowl."

_Prowl?_ Mirage frowned. "She was on-duty today."

Powerglide began backing down the hall as he took in the spy's inflection. This was not a good time to be answering any questions, he decided.

"Powerglide," Mirage repeated, vocalizer low, "where is she?"

"I told ya, our with Prowl! He took her off-duty so that they could go into town! Look, Raj, don't blow my head off."

Mirage took one step forward; the jet gulped, his faceplate shifting up and down. "Don't," the spy intoned, "call me 'Raj'." And he turned on his heel, stalking down the hallway in the opposite direction, leaving Powerglide to rub the back of his neck in utter confusion.

Up he went to the barracks and shut himself in their room, only to begin pacing. His cortex was filled with indignation – and jealousy. How many times had Flare come in, utterly exhausted in body and mind after one of their excursions? How many times had he to pry rocks and bits of fruit from her plating – results of the indignation of prepubescent females? … yet, how many times had he returned from patrol, only to find her sitting in the rec room, laughing with Prowl? Short was the time they had to actually talk to each other these days, what with Prime stepping up patrols due to Megatron's lapse in activity.

The spy paced, each swing of his legs taking him past memories, holos. He stopped and bent down, picking up a recent image taken by Hound: candid and snapped without their knowledge, it showed he and Flare perched on the lip of the volcano, staring into the setting sun. Mirage's slim black fingers tightened on the holo's edge and the frame shook with his uncertainty.

_Fool_, reason barked at him. With disgust, the spy set the holo down and turned away, fingers lacing behind his back, staring at the wall. Solarflare was too avian to … what did Spike call it? _Cheat_. Her raptor instincts were insurance against such an occurrence happening, and if he had been presented with this scenario, he would have dismissed claims of her infidelity with a fist to the accuser's face. However, at this moment, that assurance wasn't providing him with a clear cortex.

Yes, he was upset. In the light of Powerglide's information, it appeared to him that Prowl, who was the most stalwart of officers, was taking essential personnel off-duty in order to facilitate his personal problems. Did Prime know? And if he did, why was he allowing this breach of protocol to go on?

Mirage sighed, walking over to their dual recharging bed and laying his hands down upon its surface, head bent. Perhaps Prime was lax in the interim between battles – no, that didn't sound right. It had to be that he was just as occupied as the patrol personnel. _Yes, that has to be the case._ Whatever it was, Mirage knew that he couldn't go stalking to Optimus and demand that Prowl be taken to task; that would make him appear no better than say, Cliffjumper or, _Primus_, Red Alert. And though he respected Cliffjumper, traitorous remarks aside, he had no such reservations about Red. The simple fact of the matter was that no one wanted to be associated with the security director's obsessiveness and propensity to blow things out of proportion.

What to do?

Simple. He could ask Solarflare to stop the charades. Ark gossip told him as much as he needed to know about what occurred between them, though Flare herself related the accounts when possible. He did not doubt her sincerity, nor that she was considering leaving him for Prowl – again, the raptor instinct for life-mating. Still. It _hurt_. It hurt deep that he was not the one out there, wandering Portland, the beach … _slag_, concerts even.

War-love had its price, and he was paying it, deeply. Flare was his treasure, the other half of his spark; she kept him whole and reminded him that there was more to life than trophy-hunts and high-societal gatherings. More to life than Cybertron.

And he felt he was losing her.

A moan of frustration slipped from his lip components. Mirage tipped forward and banged his head on the bars of the recharging bed.

* * *

Solarflare laughed and playfully slapped Prowl's arm. "I didn't know you had it in you," she was saying, lifting one sleek black finger to wipe washer fluid from her eyes, so caught up in mirth. "The way that you told those girls off – priceless!"

Prowl fairly dimpled and shrugged, a wide smile on his own facial plate. "I think," Flare continued, too amused, "that we're on our way to the completion of a successful mission, don't you think? I mean, it was on TV for Godsake!"

_Successful mission._ Those words jolted Prowl. He stumbled and quickly turned it into fake I-tripped-on-a-rock motion. Solarflare tilted her head, concerned, but the analyst merely winked and explained that he hadn't been watching where he was going. She let it go and continued with her accolades, never knowing that she was now talking to herself and the air.

Was he really prepared to end the "charade"? Especially now, when it seemed no longer a play to him. _Was_ he falling for Solarflare? He couldn't be sure; his battle computer was null on the subject. But what was true was that she'd finally managed to capture him with her vivaciousness and sheer force of personality. She'd been able to crack the shell that was "Vice Commander Prowl" and emerged with his spark tucked neatly into the smooth black palm of her hand.

_She's Mirage's bondmate,_ logic told him indisputably. They'd been through the Pit and back for each other. And yet … he couldn't quite get rid of the notion that perhaps, if but a part of her, was enjoying this a little too much, too. _Prowl, Prowl, you're fooling yourself,_ he chided. Still …

"Good night, Prowl," he heard her say. With a jolt, he realized that they were standing in the middle of the hanger bay, Solarflare wearing a bemused expression, her crazy crest arched high.

He stifled the urge to cough. "Might I walk you up to your room?"

Was it her imagination, or did her smile lose some of its vibrancy? Whatever it was, she was beaming again. "But of course." Arm-in-arm, they walked the halls and entered the elevator, taking them up to the soldier's quarters. Prowl walked her directly to the door bearing hers and Mirage's names and stood there as she entered the combination. As the door slid open, they were greeted with the slumped posture of the white-and-blue spy. Solarflare's face lost all its gaiety; it simply ceased to exist.

"Mirage!" she cried, rushing over to the spy and kneeling at his feet, her hands laid on his thighs. "What's wrong? Was there a Decepticon attack? Are you hurt? Should I get Ratchet? First Aid?"

Prowl and Mirage locked optics, and for once, the superior officer felt inferior. "Good night, Prowl," Mirage said, discordant. "Well, yes. Good night Mirage, Flare." With a sketchy bow, the black-and-white officer took himself out, shutting the door as he did so. Flare watched the tableau with a certain amount of detachment. Was it her imagination, or was there some sort of male posturing going on? Deep in her subconscious, her avian instincts saw it as Mirage had thrown his wings wide, mantling over nest and mate; Prowl, being the interloper, recognized the display and backed away before he lost any plumage. How had she not seen this? She had tried her best, deepest, hardest, not to construct any sort of jealousy between the two – let alone encourage any latent romantic interest in her in Prowl. Oh, _Primus_!

She hung her head, ashamed that she had betrayed Mirage.

And realized that he was looking down at her with cold, impassive blue optics.

"Mirage?" she repeated, peering at him, her spark grown cold at this uncharacteristic display. "Do you want me to stop? Tell me now and I will." Her Energon pump beat quicker, harder, threatening to burst through her titanium chest plate. He was so quiet!

Slowly, he nodded, almost as if in defeat. Optics that were a clear, bright blue were shrouded and dark. "Yes, Solarflare. I do."

Flare jerked her hands back as if electricity had just been shot through it – or been zapped by one of Wheeljack's crazy experiments. " 'Solarflare'?" she stammered, completely taken aback. The way he'd said her name – he rarely called her by her full, chosen name. And in the dark, he called her by her true name, her human name. "What's wrong?" her spark cried.

Mirage sighed. "Solarflare, I have to be truthful. I thought I was all right with this whole game and then I saw how Prowl was acting around you, and I saw you responding –"

"But – I was acting!"

He held up a slim, black hand, forestalling her protests. "Let me finish." Oh, how his voice was emotionless! "You're too good for me, Solarflare. Maybe … I was wrong to claim you for my own. I see now how you brighten the lives of us lowly soldiers, brighten this war."

Flare's mouth dropped open, her lip components trembling. She wasn't hearing this! No, not now! Fluid rushed into her mouth, clogging her vocalizer. "You're tired, taxed," she reasoned. "Please, let me get you something." She reached for his hand, to touch him and let him know that all she wanted was him, because he was everything to her. Friendships might be deep, but nothing was as deep as what they shared.

The spy evaded her fingers, much to her spark's outcry. He had made his decision, for now. "Look, I'm going to go bunk with Hound tonight …" As if in sympathy, he stretched out one arm and made as if to touch her hand, but Solarflare snatched it away, a feral light in her optics. She took one step back, then another – and bolted. She didn't even wait for the door to slide all the way open before exiting. Down the hall she ran, not knowing where she was going, not even caring who she ran into in her mad dash for sanity. Hands made a grab for her, trying to catch an arm or a wing as she pushed past them, heavy feet pounding the orange corridors, washer fluid streaming from her optics. Voices called out, both external and on the comm, but she heeded neither.

As luck would have it, she ended up crashing into Hound. Green tracker and grey warrior went down in a heap of limbs and wings in the middle of the landing bay, only inches from freedom. In vain, Hound tried to pin her, but she kept her arms and legs whirling, talons out and down, scraping metal in vicious lines. The others came pounding up, concern etched into their faceplates, but Hound waved off their attempts to assist him. Amidst fending off Solarflare's mad scramble, the tracker managed to get all her limbs in the correct order and succeeded in restraining the communications officer.

"What's wrong?" Ratchet demanded, laser scalpel in hand.

"Nothing," Hound replied, slinging the incoherent Solarflare over his left shoulder, where she continued to pound on his torso plate with her pointed feet, mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish, not a word getting past her vocalizer. And this was how he carried her until he reached his quarters. Contorting at an unnatural angle, Hound managed to use the tip of his holographic projector to press the panel on his wall and open the door. Quickly, he slid in and shut it behind them; scanning his room, he set his friend down on one of his easy chairs and took the one opposite.

"Flare," he called gently.

It took a moment, but slowly she uncurled and lifted her tear-streaked white face, crest feathers flat against her helm. "Flare," he tried again, "what's wrong?"

A hiccup escaped the grey avian femme; she sat up, sanity returned. "_M-m-irage_," she shuttered; took a deep breath and met Hound's calm blue optics. "Mirage."

"What about Mirage?"

Flare drew her legs up to her chin, wrapping her arms around her knees for comfort. "About me … and Prowl."

Understanding dawned as clear as a Cybertronian day for the tracker. He knew. "I thought he was okay with the arrangement?"

She nodded and hiccupped again; Hound reached over and passed her a rag, only noticing it the moment she lifted it to her face, that it was smeared with oil from his last cleanup. Solarflare didn't seem to be aware of it; she wiped the whole of her face, leaving streaks of oil across the gleaming white surface. "He said it was my decision, that he was cool with whatever I decided to do. But … not today."

"What happened?"

She sniffed unnecessarily, for Transformers had no mucus in their olfactory components, but a residual habit from being born human. "Prowl walked me to our door. When I opened it, he was slumped there. He and Prowl had a mini … mini staring contest. Lasted only a second before Prowl left." Much to Hound's chagrin, she wiped the dirty rag all over her face again before continuing. "… He said … he said that he shouldn't have me. It sounded like he was telling me that I was free to be with the others, because I made everyone so happy."

Hound frowned in consternation. That was completely un-Miragelike! By Primus, he must've been running this over for a long time and never let it out. Given his track record with emotions, it wasn't hard to understand. He let Flare sigh, hiccup and paste herself with grease while he thought this over. Mirage couldn't be serious; everyone in the whole Ark knew that he would sooner throw himself in a Seeker's exhaust port than let Flare be harmed – or give her up, for that matter. Mirage had issues, to be sure, and this seemed to be one of those times. However, it was nothing to be taken lightly, for the last time he'd run like this he had nearly deactivate himself rather than compromise his and Flare's friendship for his love of her.

Looking up, Hound could take it no longer. He reached over and plucked the greasy rag from Solarflare's shaking hands. "Flare, Flare," he said softly, taking her hands in his, making her look up into his wide blue optics. "It'll be okay. I'll go with you; we'll sort this out." With a gentle finger, he wiped away the fluid streaming from her optics and took a clean rag to fix up her face.

She nodded absently, fingers fluttering in her lap as the green Jeep continued his ministrations. Hound tilted her head this way and that, making sure that he'd eradicated all traces of oil from her white face and set the rag aside. "C'mon, Flare, up you get."

And her arms were around him for a hug, unsettling him so badly that they both landed with a crash and thump in the middle of his cluttered room. _Oh, slag,_ he thought, optics rolling ceilingward. As if there weren't enough misconceptions already! Absently, he patted Flare on the back, trying to convince himself that he'd buried those feelings long ago and accepted the fact that he could only have her as a friend. Not true, it seemed.

He sighed softly and drew his hand along the back of her head soothingly. The tracker turned his optics skyward, seeking a higher opinion; not that he didn't know what to do next, but if it'd been any other femme … He had to get her off. She was too vulnerable right now, and he needed to see if he could talk to Mirage.

A sharp rap on his door jolted the tracker. "Yes?" he called out, trying to shift Solarflare so that her knee spikes stayed away from his lower torso.

There was a pause and a cultured, hesitant cough. "Hound? Is – is Flare in there with you?" Hound mentally groaned. _Oh, Primus_. That's just what the two of them needed right now – for the spy to see his bondmate in yet another mech's embrace.

Solarflare's head shot up at the sound of Mirage's voice, optics gone wide, crest flat against her helm. No, she mouthed, pleading with her strange gold eyes. Hound looked down at her, brow plate drawn over his own optics. "Hold on," he called back at the wall. "C'mon, Flare," he whispered. "He's here for you. See – I did promise you, didn't I?"

"Please – Hound. I know she's there. Can I see her?"

Mouth drawn tight, Hound managed a rough laugh. "Gee, hold your pistons, Mirage! I swear, you sportscars are twitchy."

There was an exasperated sigh from the other side of the door. "Hound –"

Hound ignored him, turning to Solarflare. "Listen up, Flare –" He took her chin and lifted her lowered head so that she was making optic-contact once more. "Flare!" Her optical sensors had slid from his face and he turned her head again, playing a mad game of dodge-ball with her sensors. "_Solarflare_. Will you cut that out? Do you want to see him or not?"

The grey femme's crest jerked upright at the uncharacteristic harshness in the tracker's voice. "This isn't a time to play, Flare," he continued. "Don't hold this against him."

Flare sat up and stood a ways back, wiping her face with the back of her forearm. "Let him in," she said quietly, almost inaudibly. Hound nodded and got up; he crossed his room, laden with objects from all over Earth, and opened the door. Mirage stood in the entranceway, shoulders slumped; his whole posture spoke of loss. Deftly, Hound maneuvered himself so that his blocky body barred the spy's view of his quarters.

"Yes?"

Mirage looked up, startled. Hound suspected that the spy believed that he would have to stand out here all night. Mirage coughed again and hooked his hands behind his back. "Will she talk with me?"

"I don't know," the tracker admitted. "You'll have to ask her yourself." And he stood back, revealing the lean grey femme standing in the middle of Hound's quarters. Mirage took a step forward and halted, looking questioningly at his friend.

Hound simply shrugged. "Go on, man." He stepped away and leaned up against the wall. Perhaps this should be a private conversation, but Hound felt that he should at least stay, in case something other than what he was hoping for would occur. Mirage gave the tracker a slight smile and entered. He stopped a few paces from where Solarflare was standing and got on his knees before her, arms outspread. Hound could just see Flare's expression melt; her crest slumped and so did her wings at this unexpected gesture.

"Alina," the spy began, "I'm sorry. When you left, I realized what a stupid drone I was. I – I was all right with it in the beginning, but as you and Prowl continued this charade, I began questioning whether or not you were developing feelings for him, because you seemed so happy when you came back. I know – I should have asked you directly, but I didn't. And that is my fault. The more I repressed it, the more jealous I became. And when you came back today, I lost it. I said things that I shouldn't have. … I love you." Mirage's shoulders dipped with exhaustion. "Forgive me."

Solarflare's shoulder struts fairly fell off, they were trembling so badly. She reached out and hesitantly touched the side of the spy's grey face. "You are ingrained upon my very soul," she whispered., rubbing her thumb along his cheek. "Of course I forgive you."

Hound decided that it was time to hustle the two back to their own quarters. Sure, it would have been more noble to let them have his bunk, but truthfully, there was a movie he wanted to watch at the moment.

"Guys," he spoke into the silence. Mirage turned around and smiled embarrassingly.

"Apologies, old friend." He rose and took Solarflare by the waist and led her past the tracker, pausing only to lay a hand on Hound's shoulder and mouth "thank you" before exiting. Hound watched them go and then shut the door; he wandered over to his couch and slumped down in it, flicking his DVD player on. As the opening credits scrolled by, the tracker promised himself that he would get together with some of the other Autobot warriors and petition Prime to see if they could get more femmes down here. With a shuddering sigh, Hound passed a hand over his brow plate. _Because we really need them,_ he thought. Sure, for the most part, Flare was "one of the guys", but no one could deny her utterly feminine presence. Not even Prime himself.

"And you're the jealous one, Mirage?" the tracker wondered aloud. "We're all jealous of _you_."

And then the movie started, and Hound lost himself in the action.

* * *

When Prowl had been stared out of the vicinity by a very territorial upper-class spy, he made for his office and the serenity therein. Locked in solitude, he set his hands on his desk and started pounding his head on the tabletop. Satisfied that the bugs that had invaded his specialized system had been shaken loose, he sat down, right there on the floor, and leaned his head against the smooth surface.

_You're a fool, Prowl,_ he chided himself. _A fool for letting her in and allowing her to change who you are. And double fool for even considering that she was beginning to like you – and you, her._ Of all mechs, he should have known better. How many times had he told Solarflare that he liked himself the way that he was? That he would tolerate no changing to his programming? He knew that she was puzzled, confused; having been born human, she had a skewed point of view, a short-lived point of view. One's programming made sure that you lived; it was there for you when you needed it the most.

Rubbing his chevron, Prowl stood up. It would not do his reputation any good if he was found to be sulking in his office after being bounced out by a lower ranking officer. Prowl severely hoped that this little episode never got past the three of them.

Wishful thinking, dear Primus.

Out into the hall he went, busying himself with random inspections. He dropped in on the twins and bolstered his waning spirits by slapping them with seventeen demerits – half of which he made up on the spot. With Sunstreaker spitting invectives and Sideswipe left shaking his head in disbelief, the patrol car rode the elevator down to the barracks level, prudently avoiding Solarflare and Mirage's wing. Moments before he made the turn, his high-tuned audios caught wind of whispers. Making adjustments, he caught his own name being spoken before the tones dipped into internal comm-to-comm.

Curious as to what was going on, Prowl tip-toed to the corner and poked his head around. He really shouldn't have: leaning up against the burnt-orange wall was Solarflare, her hands wrapped about Mirage's shoulders. So close that they might have been one mechanism, the spy's forehead was pressed to Solarflare's peculiar helm accoutrement while his own hands were wrapped around her waist.

After what seemed to be an eternity, the spy lifted his head and pressed his lip components ever-so-gently against the topmost feather on her head. Wordlessly, they broke apart yet still connected through their hands, black on black. Deftly, Mirage turned his bondmate so that she did not glimpse the corner. With a groan, Prowl slid back, once more embarrassed and put in place. He should have known that Mirage had sensed him; what good was a spy who did not keep track of his surroundings?

"_I forgive you, Prowl,"_ came the low-frequency sending. "_But … I'm sorry, but Flare will no longer be able to assist you in your endeavors." _

"_Accepted, Mirage." _

"_If I might offer a suggestion: this is but one minor detail. Let it go. Answering such mail is but one minor sacrifice."_

Prowl paused. _My sacrifice …_ And walked away.

* * *

**Up next ... "More Raptor Than Robot" -- Once, it was Solarflare's motto, now it's her curse ... and perhaps, her undoing.**


End file.
